Pop Goes the Hostel

After doing what we could about Stacey's lost luggage, we made our way underground to the Metro - the network that courses beneath Madrid's surface and acts as the city's arteries. It siphoned us through its dank capillaries and deposited us not far from our hostel, in a square bereft of the busy activity I had imagined of Madrid. Neglected buildings and pigeons outnumbered pedestrians.

We made our way through narrow one-way cobblestone streets flanked by sardine-can storefronts wrapped in a graffiti that looked as tired as the shops themselves. Most were closed, with barred display windows. Others were divorced from us and the world by industrial roll-up doors that were overgrown, like the walls around them, with the street art contributing greatly to the seediness emanating from these back alleys. After several blocks we reached our hostel.

A button push and a momentary pause and we were buzzed into the foyer of Madrid's POP Hostel. It was dimly lit and wept an odor that had been coordinated perfectly with its outside appearances. Stacey and I made our way up a single flight of narrow, worn, and creaking wooden stairs that zigzagged up the building's four stories. Muted sounds of activity trickled down the stairs from above and increased as we made our way up. At the first floor landing, chatter seeped from under the closed door upon which a postage-stamp of a sign proclaimed to us that we had reached our destination.












Once inside and finally with a hold of our bearings, the place grew on us immensely. Staff went out of their to help us feel welcome, including phoning Spanair to inquire about Stacey's luggage. Free maps were provided and destinations were marked for us. The rooms were cozy, clean, and empty, save the single hung-over Italian finding relief from sunlight and the bustle of the city. We were beyond ready for settling in, too, but first things first: we needed train tickets for our overnight to Lisbon the following day.

Because walking is fun, we didn't take the Metro across town to the train station. At least an hour and a dozen stops for referencing our map, we made it. Once at the front desk, our shining beacon of ambition dutifully informed us that he could not sell us tickets because they closed at 9. Behind him, a large clock read 8:54. Oh well. Tomorrow is another day, and we will get our tickets early then. The path back took less time and fewer map references and it was fun to see how alive Madrid was at night.


It's almost 3 in the morning here, and I'm too tired to think of a clever way to say how tired I am. Hopefully I will be able to get you all up to speed and stay current after our activities tomorrow. If you don't want to wait for me, Google Torre de Belém and Mosteiro dos Jerónimos, which we will be seeing during the day. In the evening we'll be walking and taking some amazing vista pictures from the Alfama quarter. Stay tuned!